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〃She knows nothing about money； and so she is stingy。 If she won it she would give me a hundred roubles； and put the rest away under lock and key。〃
And he looked at his wife； not with a smile now； but with hatred。 She glanced at him too； and also with hatred and anger。 She had her own daydreams； her own plans； her own reflections； she understood perfectly well what her husband's dreams were。 She knew who would be the first to try and grab her winnings。
〃It's very nice making daydreams at other people's expense！〃 is what her eyes expressed。 〃No； don't you dare！〃
Her husband understood her look； hatred began stirring again in his breast； and in order to annoy his wife he glanced quickly； to spite her at the fourth page on the newspaper and read out triumphantly：
〃Series 9；499； number 46！ Not 26！〃
Hatred and hope both disappeared at once； and it began immediately to seem to Ivan Dmitritch and his wife that their rooms were dark and small and low…pitched； that the supper they had been eating was not doing them good； but lying heavy on their stomachs； that the evenings were long and wearisome。 。 。 。
〃What the devil's the meaning of it？〃 said Ivan Dmitritch； beginning to be ill…humoured。 〃Wherever one steps there are bits of paper under one's feet； crumbs； husks。 The rooms are never swept！ One is simply forced to go out。 Damnation take my soul entirely！ I shall go and hang myself on the first aspen…tree！〃
End